Working in the studio, it is easy to get involved in process and technique. That’s the day-to-day work of artmaking. But, I felt the need this week to remind myself, to remember, that it’s the thought and memories that are the whole reason for artmaking.

I have a number of works-in-progress right now, all dealing with the concept of home. Home is what you remember. Because this is such a personal subject matter, a number of times I have been absolutely stopped short by an image.

When I was creating the art quilt of row houses, I was overwhelmed by nostalgia. I grew up in that neighborhood. I have walked a sidewalk in front of those homes and looked in the windows. I rode my bike in the alley behind the houses. To see those images come to life on my worktable was an act of remembering.

When I created the art quilt based on photos of an abandoned house n South Carolina, I remembered standing there by the side of the road. I remember now the smell of pine and the sound of the pine needles beneath my feet. It was an off-the-beaten path road with little traffic. The house was overgrown with vines; the roof was gone. A fire, probably. I found it hauntingly beautiful, rich with somebody else’s life and memories.

This week, I’ve tried to give myself time to have some of those stop-dead-in-my-tracks moments on purpose. The shapes of houses. A small child drawing. A distant house through the trees. A large detailed bird nest. All are filled with meaning. I don’t want to get too busy to see and remember.

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I like to talk. Generally, I do not find it scary. But this weekend on DeLand’ Studio Art Tour, I re-discovered some wonderful things that happen when talking specifically about my own artmaking.

Clarification. Refining. Deepening.

In addition to friendly chats and welcomes to my studio, I had the chance to engage in some great conversations about the series I am beginning now: the meanings of home, as represented by shapes of houses. I have done a lot of thinking abut this already, as part of my own personal journey. But, as I answered questions and described the processes (both the technical how-to processes and the sketch-to-art thinking process,) I was able to enrich my own thoughts. The very experience of the talking deepened and improved my own understanding.

Poet William Stafford describes poetry in a similar way, and I love this:

'A writer is not so much someone who has something to say as he is someone who has found a process that will bring about new things he would not have thought of if he had not started to say them.'"

Things I would not have thought of till I started to make art about them.

The creative process is an experience with many levels. One of the great realizations about this discovery is that we don’t have to have everything all figured out before beginning. We can begin. We can listen to the work. We can talk about the work. And all of that becomes part of our own understanding.

I’ve just been working on some promotions for the upcoming Studio Arts Tour in DeLand. It’s caused me to remember some of the visitors I had last year, and why it is so important to me to show people what I make and how I make it.

I remember several times last year when I had as many as fifteen people at a time in my tiny studio. (I’ve moved since then, and there’s more room.) The visitors had such great questions! I was working on a large fabric-pieced quilt the weekend of the show. Since it was in 6” squares, it was easy to keep busy in between visitors. When guests arrived, I was either collaging pieces on the small squares, or moving the squares around my worktable to develop the composition of the piece. Things that I take for granted are really interesting to studio guests. What kind of glue do I use? What kind of paint? Why do I choose certain colors? Where do I get my ideas? Every question caused me to think through my process so that I could supply a meaningful answer. It became a process of clarifying my own work. I was so grateful for the attentiveness and interest of those who visited.

I had some great experiences like that during outdoor Festivals last fall. I especially enjoyed several visiting groups of students. What great questioners they were! They went straight for content. They wanted to know about meaning, and the symbols I use, and whether I draw on stories or mythology. A few had been in art class enough to know terms like value, balance and contrast, and we had good discussions about those elements in my work.

So… I’m getting ready! I always enjoy showing art, and I really enjoy selling art! But even more, the tour will be an opportunity for me to think about my own artmaking. I can’t know in advance what thoughts I’ll have. But my visitors will guide me!

For me, in the studio, I believe the answer is yes. I looked around this afternoon. There are at least five projects working. One on the easel is one in the midst of collage layers. One is a sketch tacked to a board. One is in pieces by the sewing machine ready to stitch. One is nearly finished and awaiting hand stitching of the binding. One awaits a fabric-painting session, which I am putting off till I have a few hours of sun to paint outdoors.

I love the energy of multiple projects in the works. Perhaps it’s because I feel good about the source of these works. I’ve been sketching and thinking and composing a series for awhile, and I am now in the process of creating the work. So I am watching the ideas unfold. I am using the quiet time of hand work to think ahead about the next piece. I am allowing the movement back and forth between works to keep the whole process alive and interesting.

It’s not really so much like juggling. It’s more like a dance – an old-time reel. Moving in a patterned way from one partner to the next, coming back to the beginning, moving in a new way, then over again. The studio dance.